


Twenty Years upon the Sea

by wisteriafic



Category: Mad Men
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 09:31:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3687156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wisteriafic/pseuds/wisteriafic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life lived in the margins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twenty Years upon the Sea

Ted dreams about her sometimes. Ordinary dreams, like holding an office door open for her, or brainstorming with the guys in the creative lounge.

This time, though, they’re in bed together. Flannel pajamas, blankets pulled up to their chins because the night is in the single digits. Her radiator groans in the silence. One of his hands is tucked between his head and the pillow, and the other lies along his hip. She mirrors him, but with her left hand curled into a fist at her neck.

They breathe in tandem, and he stares at her.

She is beautiful. White face and dark hair haloed by the bluish light through the curtains. He’s wide awake, but her eyes blink slowly, fighting sleep and losing. Twelve, maybe thirteen inches between them. Beautiful.

The blankets rustle as she bends her knee, flannel-clad leg brushing against his. She whispers something that he can’t hear through the molasses haze of the dream. It’s calm and quiet, and he thinks: _I am happy._

He reaches for her, hand cupping the curve of her chin. Her cheek fills his palm as she smiles.

And then he wakes. 

The same bluish light, but now the hair on the pillow next to him is blonde. These days, Nan faces away from him when she sleeps. Ted kicks away the sheets then rolls onto his back. He stares at the slow whirl of the ceiling fan until the light through the curtains turns pale yellow.

*****

At first, he does make an effort. The firm’s accountant insists on establishing the office before year-end for tax purposes, so the holidays pass in a blur of real estate agents and secretary interviews. Flying out to California and setting up the branch is almost enjoyable, though he leaves most of the decisions up to Pete. It reminds him of seven years ago when he, Frank, and Jim decided to leave Walker Johansson and break out on their own.

His heart’s not completely in it, though. He knows it could be if he really tried, but he’s just so damned tired. 

Nan and the kids come out after Christmas, their faces bright like the sun when they see the house he’s chosen. He watches the boys bicker over bedrooms, and he thinks: _This is good. I’ll make it work._

And he does. At first.

*****

Things are nice in California. He’s certain that he made the right decision, and that carries him through the first visit back to SC&P. Avoiding Peggy is easy and best for all concerned. Then he’s confronted with the reality of her, there in the break room, and the bottom falls out.

He makes small talk, keeps his dignity intact, and acts like it’s all in the past. Just catching up on some work. She’s a coworker now, part of a separate world. They’ll both be fine. 

The words float through his head. He knows they’re bullshit.

She hates him.

She is everything.

He can never go back.

*****

Ted doesn’t give up all at once. It’s a slow slide into mediocrity, the kind that made him lose respect for so many colleagues in the past. He knows that Pete has noticed, but he just doesn’t care.

There’s so little work to be done here. Most of the creative is still handled in New York then sent cross-country in large manila envelopes. One morning, Sunkist requests copy revisions as soon as possible. Ted spends the rest of the day trying to come up with something on his own, but he finally has to call the answering service to pass it along to Lou.

He used to have a novel’s worth of words in his head. An idea for every campaign and then some. Now everything’s a blank page that he doesn’t care to fill. He buys a TV for his office, ostensibly to keep up with the competition. Game shows, soap operas, and news bulletins become a salve, passing the time until he can go home and sit on the sofa with the boys, watching more TV. Or tossing a baseball. Whatever. It’s all the same.

*****

“Two nominations!” 

Pete struts into his office, his face lit up with something close to a radioactive glow. For not the first time, Ted wonders if his partner is capable of speaking in a calm tone of voice. “The Clios?”

“Yes.” Hands in pockets, Pete sways front-and-back like he always does when he gets excited. “This will be a feather in my cap when I meet with Green Giant next week.”

He picks up the telegram Pete has tossed onto his desk. Stan was nominated for his Avon print art design, and Michael for Playtex. That’s it. “What about St. Joseph’s?”

“The firm didn’t submit it for consideration.” He gives Ted a familiar look of condescension. “Didn’t you read the memo last month?”

“I must’ve missed that one.”

“Figures.” Pete turns to leave. “This calls for a celebratory drink. Come over to my office. I’ll get Harry and Lou on the speakerphone.” 

“I’m fine, thanks.” 

A final eyeroll, then Pete walks out the door. Ted frowns at the telegram. This is excellent news, of course. He remembers brainstorming with Michael Ginsberg, signing off on Stan’s boards. He should be proud of them. But St. Joseph’s isn’t on the list. That campaign was so good. Even after the budget revisions, it was worth a win. Peggy deserved that and more. When he closes his eyes, he can still see the way she laughed as they acted out the commercial, how she pretended to storm out of the creative lounge when they debated the cast of characters. He can still feel the warmth of her body next to his in the movie theater. And yes, he remembers the gut-punch of humiliation when Don called him on his shit, made him out to be another of those jerks seduced by a pretty face. 

That gold statue was supposed to be her reward for excellence, a way for the rest of Madison Avenue to see her the way he did. Now she won’t even get the chance. It wouldn’t have been her first nomination, but St. Joseph’s was a sure win. Ted knew the business was rigged; he just didn’t expect it to happen within his own agency. 

*****

Both he and Nan have tepid libidos. A few times a month have always been enough to keep them satisfied, and she never had any complaints. Ted’s glad that the California sun doesn’t have much of an effect on their love life. He’s terrified that he’ll do something stupid like call out Peggy’s name while he’s making love with his wife. He still thinks about her, though. That one night did something to him, woke up something in his gut -- and below -- that he’d long thought was dormant. And he’s desperate to get it back, but he doesn’t know how.

*****

The office is too damned quiet. It’s only the three of them most days, unless one of the freelancers comes in for a meeting. Even then, they don’t say much, not that Ted blames them. Damask drapes and wall-to-wall carpeting aren’t conducive to creativity. The whole thing doesn’t jive with his assumption that Los Angeles was a non-stop beach party. Then again, he still hasn’t been to the beach. For all he knows, that’s where the action is.

Ted stares at the Sunkist proofs, his mind as blank as it was when he walked in two hours ago. Maybe a change of scenery would yank him out of this rut. He slides the files into his portfolio and tells Dee he’ll be back in an hour or so.

She looks up, surprised. “If anyone calls, I’ll take a message.” Is that meant as a sly joke? Nobody ever calls him.

He takes the stairs for the exercise. Once he’s outside, he reflexively turns toward the parking lot then stops himself. No, a walk sounds better. Then he realizes the flaw in that logic: there’s nowhere to go. This part of Beverly Hills is full of polite offices and pastel cafes where bored doctors’ wives meet for lunch. There’s a bar a few blocks down, but that’s too depressing on a Tuesday morning, even for him.

He leans against the pink stucco of his office building, watching car after car go by, and he misses New York like hell. Or heaven. Right now, he craves a little of both.

*****

Pete has a girlfriend. Harry Crane shows up in the office with a different woman each time he visits. Ted’s pretty sure that Don has someone on the side. Frank’s longtime mistress even came to his funeral. She was supposed to be a secret, but everyone knew.

They make it look so easy. Screw every woman in sight, then go home to your wife. And if she complains, well, you’re rich enough for alimony. Ted used to pride himself on not being like them, not that he’d ever say it aloud. He didn’t actually mind the hedonism of Madison Avenue; heck, that den of iniquity is a big part of what makes his firm so successful. He just liked gazing down on it from the high ground. 

So much for that. He’s reminded of that cliche: _How can you look at yourself in the mirror?_ Sometimes he can’t stand what he sees there. Other times he just doesn’t care.

*****

Sunday morning, mid-April. The church Nan chose is brand new, like everything else here. Glass and stucco, a building that looks less like a sanctuary than an art museum. The sermons are the same, though. We are all sinners who can find absolution through the grace of God, if only we open ourselves to Him.

Ted looks over at his wife, who hangs onto the pastor’s every word. Then over at Brian and Chris, doing word search puzzles and trying not to fidget.

Open your heart to the Lord. Confession is good for the soul.

He could do it. Pull her aside in private and let it all out. _I fell in love, Nan. I tried so hard not to, but I was too weak. I fell in love and kissed her on a cold November night. Worshipped her body with mine. Vowed to run away with her and leave you behind because she was my world. I was -- am -- in love, and I am weak. So weak._

He coughs, almost choking on the bile that pushes through his throat. Nan touches his arm, concerned, and he has to leave. He mutters something about water then slips out of the pew and flees to the narthex.

He is a sinner. An adulterer. And he cannot confess.

*****

Five months in Los Angeles, and he’s still pale as snow. Everyone teases him about it, so he gives in and starts to spend his evenings in the backyard. The boys are thriving; Chris has grown four inches since New Year’s. They whine about wanting a pool like their friends. Ted tells them maybe this autumn.

At least Nan is happy. He smiles enough to trick her into thinking he’s happy too. He’s home by five every day, and she stops complaining that he works too much. He keeps waiting for her newfound love of California to rub off on him.

And Ted gets sick. Watery eyes, a head full of mucus and fog. The doctor gives him a once-over then nods. “Allergies, Mr. Chaough. Happens all the time with you East Coast transplants. Take some antihistamines and spend more time outdoors to get used to it. You’ll be fine.”

Ted blinks then throws his head back and laughs for the first time in weeks. He’s allergic to California. Perfect.

*****

The new house seems designed for families that don’t want to see much of each other. Two-car garage. A study and a sewing room that’s filled with his wife’s books instead of fabric. His-and-hers vanities in the master bath. Tonight she walks up to him as he washes his face. “Ted?” she begins in a tentative voice. 

“Yes?”

“My friend Sadie has been seeing a therapist. She says that he’s been very helpful.”

“Huh.” Monosyllables are his preferred mode of discourse these days, even though he knows it annoys her. 

“I think you should make an appointment.”

There it is. He meets her gaze in the mirror. She has always looked more mature than him -- in a wonderful way, of course. Now he looks a hundred years old, and she’s still herself.

“Nan --” 

“I’m serious. This move was supposed to bring us closer together, but you’re obviously miserable. I can’t help you anymore. Maybe a professional can.”

He turns off the faucet and grips the knobs. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” She touches his shoulder then lets her arm fall away. “You need to find a way to get better, or else we’ll have to find a way to move on without you. It’s not fair to me, and it’s certainly not fair to the kids.” She watches him in the mirror for a few more moments, waiting for a response that he doesn’t know how to give. Finally, she shakes her head and leaves.

Ted just stands there, somewhere between relief and a fury he doesn’t have the energy for anymore. He gave up Peggy, his career, his life in New York, but now it might have been all for nought. A therapist isn’t going to help him become the husband Nan wants back. That flight has left the runway. He hasn’t been in this marriage for a long time, even before he hired a certain copywriter. He’s barely more than a father in name only, and the boys are doing fine. He could cut everyone’s losses and move on. But where would he even go, when Peggy hates him and his career is in the throes of a slow death?

He walks down the hall to Brian’s room and watches the boy sleep. Almost nine years old, and he’s a great kid. Well-adjusted. He’s fine. Everyone is, except him.

When he finally makes it back to their bedroom, Nan cuts the light on the side table then slides under the sheets, facing away from him. He mutters, “Write down the number. I’ll make an appointment.”

The number is on a notepad by his breakfast plate the next morning. He never calls.

*****

His buyout of Frank’s partnership stake has been completed for months, though he doesn’t give it much thought until Memorial Day weekend. Ted sits in the study, listening to the kids play outside while he looks at the financial statements sent over from his lawyer in New York. The buyout has left him a rich man -- or, rather, the potential to be very rich if he decides to cash in his own stake. It’s a tempting idea. SC&P isn’t really his anymore. Ted Chaough as the high-flying head of a top-25 agency hasn’t existed since Don turned to him and said, “You’re going to California.” 

He has options. If he cashed in, the agency would suffer a bit, but it would bounce back like it always does. He could take that money and start his own firm out here or somewhere else altogether. Cape Cod is a good place to raise a family. Nice flying up there, too. Of course, Nan would probably leave him if he suggested another move. Advertising, though? The idea of going back to being a full-time creative director sticks in his throat. Maybe he could just retire and coach Little League. 

Ted stands up and draws back the curtains, illuminating the dust motes that scatter in all directions. Nan is stretched out on a chaise, reading yet another book that she’ll insist he try when she’s finished. The boys take turns defending a castle they’ve made out of a refrigerator box. It’s the kind of game they played back when they were barely out of diapers, and now Chris is nearly a teenager. They’re thriving in the sunshine, instead of snowy New England winters. 

Life is all around him, but he’d rather stay inside in the dusty study. 

Memorial Day weekend. Every year, Frank and Mary would have them over for a barbecue, the women chatting about something or another while Wendy whined that she was too old to play with little boys. He and Frank would laugh about it while grilling hot dogs and burgers, then take over the patio table after lunch so they could work on their latest campaign. 

Frank was his best friend, and now he’s six feet under a Connecticut hillside. Ted misses him at the strangest moments, like deciding what to order at a diner or spotting one of the Horatio Hornblower novels that the guy loved. If Frank were here, he’d know how to talk some sense into Ted, likely involving many eye-rolls and “You’re being ridiculous. Get yourself together.”

Ted glances over for his portfolio statement, does some mental math, and writes a substantial check to Sloan-Kettering. _In Memoriam._

He blinks a few times to clear his eyes. Then he takes a Benadryl before heading outside to lead a charge on a castle.

*****

Burger Chef is the only thing on his agenda today. Pete’s already in New York with Bonnie, and Dee’s out for a doctor’s appointment. Just him in the office. Maybe he’ll take off early too. First, though, he has to get through this. It won’t be fun. He places the call and waits for Shirley to patch him through to Lou’s office. A roll call, but Peggy’s not there yet. Good. He needs a moment to prepare himself. It’s not the first time he’s heard her voice since then. They’ve even had a handful of civil, just-the-facts-ma’am calls. But every time he thinks he’s over the guilt and awkwardness, the soft pitch of her voice gets under his skin.

The three of them discuss the strategy and data for a few minutes, and it almost feels good. Like he’s back to himself. He even sits up straight and grabs a notepad. The work is excellent, but despite Lou’s platitudes, he can tell there’s something missing. It’s exactly what the client wants, yet it doesn’t quite have the heart he expects from Peggy. Then again, he’s gotten so rusty out here that he doesn’t know what’s good anymore.

And then there she is.

He reaches for his screwdriver and takes a sip, bracing himself.

They tell her that Don should deliver the pitch, and Ted can almost hear her bristle over the long-distance line. And when Pete asks for his opinion, Ted finds himself saying both the wisest and worst possible thing: “We should use every tool at our disposal.”

He flinches, but it’s out there now. Even from three thousand miles away, he can still take something from her. 

Then it’s over. He closes his eyes and hangs up the phone. A few deep breaths, a few more sips, and the nausea fades. Maybe he’ll go to the beach. He could use some sun.

*****

Everyone’s talking about the moon. The boys park themselves in front of the TV on launch day, and last Sunday’s sermon was all about harnessing the power of God’s creation. Nan has decided to throw a viewing party with barbecue and sparklers left over from the Fourth. Once the kids have gone to bed, he sits down at the kitchen table and watches her make a shopping list. She looks at him. “Could you stop by the hardware store on the way home from work tomorrow and pick up some fuel for the tiki torches?”

“Sure.” Tiki torches and barbecue. She really has become a Californian.

He listens to her rattle off the menu, muttering “Nice” and “Sounds good” after each item. Fourteen years of marriage means she knows his moods too well, because she finally leans back and crosses her arms. “Do you even want to have this party, Ted?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then why do you sound like it’s a trip to the dentist?”

“It’s not --” He sighs. “If the party will make you happy, then I’m all for it.”

And he immediately knows that was the wrong thing to say. “What’s the point in making me happy if you’re not?”

Ted closes his eyes. They need to have this argument; it’s long overdue. But he really does not want to do this right now. “I’m sorry. It’ll be a good party. I’m just tired.”

She stares at him for a long moment, as if deciding whether or not to press the issue. He decides for her. Standing up, he leans over to kiss the crown of her hair. “I should get some sleep. Long day tomorrow. The Sunkist guys want to go up in the plane.”

“Okay. Sweet dreams.” She shakes her head again and picks up her pencil. Resigned, like so much else these days.

*****

Ted looks out the small window and watches Los Angeles disappear below the plane. The air around him seems lighter, both from the cabin pressure and the weight off his shoulders. He’s going home.

The last thing Nan said to him at the airport was, “Stay in New York for a while if you want. Take a break. We’ll be fine.” And he knows she meant it as a kindness. 

He mulls over what to say to Jim. _That fiasco with Sunkist was a wake-up call. I can’t do this anymore. I need you to buy me out._

It will be difficult. He told Dee to book him two weeks at the hotel. That should give him some time to think. Make plans for an entirely new future. 

*****

End (1/1)


End file.
